I don't want to die, Cas
by princessackles
Summary: Castiel Novack was a kid who grew up in the seam in District 12. Dean Winchester was a kid who grew up in one. Castiel was called up at the reapings. Dean volunteered for his kid brother. The two seem like unlikely allies. But both boys have something in common. They don't want to die. Destiel.


**So I had this idea, that Dean and Cas get shoved in the Hunger Games together and somehow become allies. Cas is a guy from twelve, and Dean is a career, but it all works out in the end. Tell me what you think, as this is my first time trying an AU.**

* * *

Dean is awoken by the feel of a small warm body slipping into bed next to him. He turns toward Sam, who has pressed his body close to Dean's. "Sorry," Mumbled the little figure, still half asleep. "I didn't mean to wake you..." Sammy's voice trailed off.

"No problem," Dean whispers, letting Sam snuggle into him. "Nightmares?"

Sammy mumbled a sheepish, "Yeah" and Dean ruffled his hair gently. "Go back to sleep," He whispered quietly. As Sam's breath steadied, and his eyes slowly closed, succumbing to sleep, Dean pressed his own eyes closed, trying to block out the light streaming in from one of the windows. He stayed like that until he was sure Sam was truly asleep. When Dean realized that sleep wasn't an option for himself, he slipped out of the bed carefully, as not to wake his little brother. He smiled, looking at the little boy with a certain fondness. With a sigh, he got dressed, pulling himself into a worn shirt, and the familiar leather jacket. He slid into the warm leather boots, and moved outside.

Even though it was early in the morning, the hot dry air was beginning to appear, and Dean immediately regretted wearing his jacket. Instead of taking the uncomfortable piece of clothing back inside, Dean slid it off, tying it around his waist. And then he moved.

There was no silence on the streets, not even on reaping day. The sixteen to eighteen year old tributes were busying themselves training, preparing, even today, on the day of the reaping. Dean had trained too, since he was twelve, practicing to be a tribute, a career, a victor. But now, at eighteen, his final year, Dean realized he didn't relish the idea of fighting to the death. He didn't relish the idea of killing. Cowardly? Perhaps. Especially coming from _Dean Winchester, _John Winchester's son. The victor of the 44th annual hunger games. It would even be considered cowardly coming from any old District one tribute. But Dean didn't care. He just knew he really didn't want to die.

Dean took himself to the shade of one of the factories, sitting on the ground in the corner, waiting patiently for his best friend to arrive. She did, finally, nearly ten minutes later.

"What took you so long?" He said teasingly, as she sat down beside him.

She, being Jo Harvelle. She was a ball of sarcasm, sass and fiery rage if you got her going in the right direction. Although she stood just short of five foot seven inches, and was only sixteen, and rather cute, she could take you down in seconds.

"Shut up Winchester," She retorted, sticking her tongue out at him.

He smiled, amused by her. "What've you got there?" He reached over her lap, trying to snatch her pack away from her, but she slung it out of his reach before he could, and slapped his hand away.

"Patience is a virtue," She chided.

"What are you, my mother?" He retorted back.

She ignored him, and reached into her pack, pulling out a fresh carton of blackberries.

"Yum," Dean mumbled, as she offered him a berry, he popped it into his mouth, feeling the cool berry explode in his mouth. They sit in silence for a long while, in the cool of the shade, eating blackberries together, and ignoring the world.

That is, until Jo breaks the silence. "Will you try to volunteer today?" She said it quietly, like she was afraid of the answer. Jo might of been a good fighter, but the lionhearted girl had always been secretly afraid of the games, of the arena, of the reaping.

"No," Dean said finally, meeting her eyes. His voice sounded dry and raspy. "No." He repeated.

"Somebody should do something," She whispered. "Stop the games. Stop the reapings. Stop it all." The words were so close to rebellion, it wasn't funny.

"Don't say that out loud." Dean said quietly, a little harshly.

"At least I didn't yell it," She snaps back, irritation leaking into her tone. "And it's the truth. We both know it. When is someone going to _do something?!" _

"Stop it," He almost yelled at her. He looked around to make sure no one was listening in on their conversation.

"Forget it." She said, stuffing several berries in her mouth.

Dean did know, with all his heart that the games were wrong, but who was he to stop them? He glanced at Jo, and saw the hurt look on her face. Dean knew that she felt like he was disagreeing with her, which wasn't true. He just didn't want her to get her. He didn't want Sammy to get hurt. He wanted the games to stop, but he wanted their protection more.

They sit there for a while longer, until the silence becomes suffocating and they both run out of berries. When these two things happen, the pair say their goodbyes, and part ways, going to their separate houses.

* * *

District One is definitely one of the nicer districts. Probably the nicest. Even the poorest people live well, with two story houses, and comfortable living circumstances. People rarely have to take out tessera. There is indoor plumbing and electricity at all hours of the day. People are well behaved. Even the jobs are posh, with people making wine, or polishing diamonds. When you looked at District One, you were taken back to before the war, to what were called suburbs. That's how District One was. It was nice. Everything was in order.

The houses in the Victor's Village were possibly one of the nicest parts of District one. They were practically mansions, at four stories high, and lavishly decorated. Dean didn't like the Village, possibly because of his neighbors, but he couldn't exactly opt out of living there, especially with Sammy still in the house.

At the exact moment Dean came into the house, John Winchester staggered into the living room, and plopped down on the couch, still drunk, but Sam had somehow convinced him to get into his best suit.

"Where have you been?" The man, despite his drunken state had noticed Dean.

"Training," Dean had quickly learned that it was the easiest lie, one that his father would easily buy. John merely nodded, taking it for the truth, and took a swig of whatever type of alcohol he had in the bottle he was holding.

Dean headed upstairs, finding Sam in his room reading. He was dressed in his best jeans and t-shirt, and Dean smirked. "Don't you want to wear something a little nicer?" He asked.

"Are you even going to change?" Retorted Sam.

"Touche." Dean said with a small smile. "Are you ready?"

"No," Sam said, and Dean could see his slightly trembling hands.

"Don't worry. You've got lines and lines of teenagers practically waiting to volunteer for you."

"But what if-"

Dean cuts him off by sitting next to him on the bed and wrapping him into a hug. "No what if's. You Understand? Nothing's going to happen to you Sammy. Not while I'm around."

Sam squirmed out of his embrace. "It's Sam," He grumbled.

* * *

At one 'o clock, Sam, Dean and John headed to the square. John had sobered some, but only enough to be seen in public, as if there were any other option. Anyone and everyone has to attend the reaping, unless you're on death's bed. If you're not, and you stay home? Well, your death was pretty much planned. The threesome got in line and signed their names, Sam and Dean then heading to the roped off sections. Sam was near the front, with the rest of the twelve year olds. Dean was near the back, with the eighteen year olds, all of whom were ready to volunteer if needs be.

Ashybe Specteral, the escort for District one arrives, taking her seat on the left of the podium. The most recent winner from District One takes a seat next to her. They talk in hushed tones until it starts.

Dean felt as if he was suffocating in the closeness of all the other eighteen year old men, combined with the heat, and dry air. He sucked in a breath, and scanned the girls for Jo. He didn't see her.

At exactly two 'o clock, the anthem blared, and the speech about the reason for the Games, along with the list of victors for District One was announced. It was a very long list. When all of that is over, Ashybe was introduced, and she smiled wide. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favor!" She looked awful, in an alarming shade of yellow, combined with her turquoise shade of hair.

Dean ignored her speech about how thankful she was to be there, and scanned the crowd for Jo. He finally made her out, and she shot him a brief smile, which he returned. He was glad she wasn't angry.

"Ladies first!" She announced, the smile seeming all too fake in that moment. She scrambled around in the ball before finding a paper that seemed to suit her well enough. "Jessica Moore!"

For a half a second, Dean was worried. Jessica was one of Sam's best friends. She had just turned twelve too. But the fear was gone as soon as it had appeared, because Jessica's older sister, Leah was on her feet, volunteering before Jessica could even move. What was worse, was the glimmer of proudness in Jessica's eyes. Not sadness. She was proud that her older sister was going to kill people.

Ashybe didn't make a big deal over Leah volunteering. People volunteered in District One all the time. "Time for our male tribute!" She announced, that fake smile still spread all over her face.

She pulled out a paper much quicker this time and read the name.

"Samuel Winchester!"


End file.
